


Irresistible Taste

by Femenemity (Pugglemuggle)



Category: M&Ms Commercials, TV Commercials
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Femslash, First Dates, Flirting, In a way, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Love Bites, M&M - Freeform, M&M March Madness, M&Ms, Not MMC Canon, PDWT, Seduction, Sex turns into something more, Sexual Content, Strangers to Lovers, Why Did I Write This?, chacking, it's off screen mostly, mild vore, pribbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6198643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pugglemuggle/pseuds/Femenemity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh... Steer clear of Kristen. She can’t control herself around chocolate. She’ll <i>devour</i> you.”</p><p>Based on that commercial (you know which one).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoVeryAverageMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoVeryAverageMe/gifts), [lacksley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacksley/gifts), [Trista_zevkia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/gifts), [KarmyBagginshield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarmyBagginshield/gifts).



> "They were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should." - Ian Malcolm, Jurassic Park (1993)
> 
> I'm sorry.
> 
> —
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJql_aHugeA) is the commercial in question.
> 
> Written as a part of the 7th annual M&M March Madness. The prompt was PDWT (no surprise there) with requests from numerous participants for chacking and mild pribbing. Please note that this work is canon divergent and does not comply with current MMC canon.

“Oh... Steer clear of Kristen. She can’t control herself around chocolate. She’ll devour you.”

Brown looked over Madison’s shoulder at the woman in question—Kristen, her auburn hair styled expertly, her slim cheetah-print dress hugging her body. Kristen was staring at her. They made eye contact for a moment, only a moment, and suddenly it felt it was just the two of them in an empty room.

“Really...?” Brown said and looked away, breaking the tension.

“I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t warn you...” said Madison. Brown didn’t even have to be looking at her to see the wink in her voice. “Gotta go.”

Madison left, and Kristen was still staring.

***

Brown was plucking a new champagne flute off the waitress’s tray when a curtain of sunset hair came into view.

“Champagne?” Kristen said, the corners of her red lips turned up in a subtle smile. “Classy.”

“Yes, well,” Brown replied, “I have a very particular taste.”

She downed the flute in one go, holding Kristen’s gaze the whole time, and then set the empty glass back on the waitress’s tray.

“I see,” Kristen said. Her grin widened. “I suppose we’ve got something in common, then.”

***

Kristen cornered her later by the coat check. It was late, but the party was far from over.

“Well, Ms. Brown,” Kristen said. “I’d love to know more about that particular taste of yours.”

And so Brown showed her, crowded between heavy wool designer coats and suit jackets that cost more than the price to cater the whole event. Faux fur tickled her face, brushed against her hands, made her shiver almost as much as Kristen’s touch. She couldn’t see Kristen in the dark but feeling her lips was just as good.

***

“It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Brown,” Kristen said on her way out, taking on of Brown’s hands gently in her own and looking at her with eyes that said more than her words. “I hope I’ll get to see you again soon.”

“Oh, I believe we can make that happen,” Brown said. For the first time that night, Kristen’s expression slipped from confident and flirtatious to something less sure. Brown gestured for her to lean in and whispered in her ear. “Check your coat pocket.”

The address she’d left there would be more than enough.

***

Brown was awake before Kristen the next morning. She went straight to her powder room and looked at herself in the mirror for a long time. There was a bite mark just below her chin, small and neat. Careful. It was nothing that she couldn’t make disappear with some well-placed cover-up but something about it had her transfixed. She ran her fingertips over the mark, reveling in the twinge she felt as she brushed against the sensitive edge.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been given a mark like this. There was no reason for her to be so affected. It was just a fling, one night of fun—nothing special. And yet.... She thought of Kristen’s eyes, the way she’d looked at her when she’d given her that mark, the deep brown of her irises in the dim light and the smudge of her red lipstick at the corner of her mouth. It should be nothing. It _was_ nothing.

When she reentered the bedroom, Kristen was gone.

 _See?_ she told herself. _What were you hoping for?_

***

She was at a charity function when she saw Kristen next. Her red-brown hair made her stand out in the crowd, even as she loitered near the back of the hall next to the dessert buffet.

Brown didn’t go to her immediately, of course. She waited until she knew Kristen had noticed her, and then waited a bit more, just for good measure.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said when she finally made her way over.

“This is quite an event, isn’t it?” Kristen commented, gesturing to the sea of white tables, to the elegant guests, to the small army of waitresses and waiters dressed in black.

“Not as magnificent as our last evening together, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Kristen said with a small smirk. She was wearing a deeper tone of lipstick today, Brown noticed. “I’m sure I could make this event just as good as the last one.”

Kristen wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t wrong the next time, either, or the time after that, or the time after that.

***

“Do you like French food?” Brown asked suddenly one morning as Kristen stood in the doorway, dressed in the same deep brown frock she’d worn the night before. Kristen turned around and gave her a complicated look, a look Brown didn’t know what to make of.

“I love French food,” Kristen said eventually, her voice slow, almost cautious. “There’s a place on 17th and Broadway I’ve been to before. I know the chef—he adores me. He’d trip over himself to give me a table there every day of the week if I asked.”

“Every day of the week?” Brown echoed, arching a brow. “I doubt we need to be that extravagant. Just Saturday night would do.”

“Consider it done. Seven o’clock?”

“I’m sure I could fit that in.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Kristen said, and now she was smiling again—no lipstick this time, just pale pink. Beautiful.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Brown said.

She terrified herself by how much she meant it.

***

The French restaurant was just as gourmet as anything Brown had had before, which, considering how many world class chefs Brown knew on a first name basis, was saying quite a lot. The company, however, was what Brown coveted most. Kristen was an editor for a fashion magazine, she told her. She wrote articles about global trends and their influence on domestic fashion. Brown told her about her duties as a confectionary spokesperson, about the responsibilities and the vocational risks. They talked until the rest of the diners had long since finished the meals, until their waitress began to give them worried glances from behind the bar. They continued to talk through the cab ride back to Brown’s brownstone, up the stairs to the door, through the hall to the bedroom.

“Wait,” Kristen said as the bedroom door shut behind them. “If we’re going to keep doing this,” she murmured, her voice soft and more vulnerable than Brown had ever heard it before, “I need to tell you something.”

“Of course.”

“I enjoy our time together,” Kristen said.

“So do I.”

“And I think what we have is special,” Kristen continued. “I want to know if you feel the same way.

Brown looked at Kristen’s hair, her lips, her dark brown eyes, and smiled.

“I do feel the same,” she said, and meant it, with all of her heart. “I really do.”

Some things are too good to resist.

**Author's Note:**

> I still blame Nic, but Zoe gets at least some of the blame this time.


End file.
